Formidable
by Linkforever125
Summary: Francis has just been dumped by his girlfriend and he doesn't take it well at all. As he wanders the streets of Paris in a drunken stupor, he realizes that everything comes to an end eventually, even if that thing is wonderful.


**AN: A written version of the song "Formidable" by Stromae, starring your favorite Frenchman. Written at 2 AM so I apologize if it's shitty.**

**Warning: lots of French ahead. I didn't provide translations, because I feel it would disrupt the flow of the story. And I didn't write it completely in English either, because France detests English and why write it in English when the song is in French?**

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The escalator stairs leading out of the underground train station went up slowly. Francis leaned on the rail with one arm as he went up, and when he surfaced into the damp, drizzling air he stumbled forward and slung his raincoat over his shoulder. He climbed over a small fence and staggered into the road, stopping in front of a car. The cold rain fell all around him and he shivered, but otherwise didn't mind.

He spread his arms out wide and lifted his head to the sky. "Formidable, ohhhh!" he shouted, and the car in front of him beeped its horn. He continued to walk across the street and climbed over another fence, then put his coat on sluggishly. The train stop was bustling with people and he walked to the center near the train tracks, swaying in his spot.

"Formidable!" he yelled again, uncaring of the stares he was receiving. "Formidable! Tu étais formidable; j'étais fort minable...nous étions formidables."

He staggered about, his head in his hands as it pounded madly. "Formidable! Tu étais formidable; j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidables!" he shouted, and it sounded like he was on the verge of sobbing.

Francis looked around, his eyes half-lidded, when suddenly they widened at the sight of a man and a woman standing by a lamppost. He smiled to himself and began to walk over to them, though his movements were slow and as if he was intoxicated.

"Oh, bébé!" he called, then chuckled and said sarcastically "Oups, mademoiselle."

The woman, a blue-eyed brunette, turned around and opened her mouth in shock. "François?" she mumbled to herself, and grabbed the sleeve of the man she was standing next to.

Francis stumbled up to her and smiled. "Je vais pas vous draguer, promis, juré! Je suis célibataire depuis hier, putain!"

The woman gasped. "François!" she exclaimed. She turned to the man beside her and muttered "Chérie, nous devons partir..."

"Je peux pas faire d'enfants...mais bon, c'est pas...eh reviens!" he called when he saw the two beginning to walk away. He began to advance towards them and the woman's face scrunched up when she smelled the overwhelming scent of alcohol on his breath.

"Cinq minutes, quoi!" Francis yelled, throwing out his arms. The woman flinched and backed away. "Je t'ai pas insulté! Je suis poli, courtois, et _un peu fort bourré_!" He looked down at his shoes, a sad shadow falling over his face. "Et pour les mecs comme moi vous avez autre chose à faire. Vous me pourriez vu hier! J'étais formidable!"

Francis pinched the bridge of his nose and choked back a sob. "Formidable! Tu étais formidable...j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidables." He repeated it, and this time his voice broke just a little further.

The brown-haired man next to the girl stood in front of her protectively and glared at Francis. "Rentrez chez vous." he commanded. He stood rigidly and waited for Francis to make a move; he wasn't the least bit intimidated by some petty drunk.

Francis saw this and glowered at the man. What right did he have to protect _his_ girl? "Oh, tu t'es regardé! Tu t'crois beau parce que tu t'es marié?!" he challenged, getting closer to the man to try to appear threatening. "Mais c'est qu'un anneau, mec, t'emballes pas. Elle va te larguer comme elles font chaque fois!"

The man took a step forward, his fist raised. By now, everyone in the plaza was watching and waiting for a fight to occur. "Excuse-moi?!"

Francis laughed and hiccupped. "Et puis l'autre fille, tu lui en a parlé? Si tu veux lui dis, comme ça c'est réglé!" he shouted with a smirk. "Et au petit aussi, enfin si vous en avez. Ha! Attends trois ans, sept ans et là vous verrez si c'est formidable!"

"Formidable!" Francis repeated, as if it was his own personal mantra. "Tu étais formidable, j'étais fort minable. Nous étions formidable!" Once again he repeated it, and by the time he was done he was practically in tears.

The woman pushed her husband aside, much to his protest, and laid a hand on Francis' shoulder. She gazed at him sadly. "Ça va, François?" she asked gently.

Francis shook his head. He was most definitely not okay. He wanted to tell her that so bad, to let her know how much he had suffered since that day, but he felt that no amount of words could express how deeply hurt he had been by her actions.

Just then Francis dropped his jacket, having removed it a while before, and he bent down to pick it up, when suddenly he saw a head peering out from behind the woman's legs. The child stared at him with wide eyes, and at first Francis began to smile, but it quickly turned into a scowl.

"Eh petite!" he said as he stood up straight. The child squeaked in surprise and Francis quickly added "Pardon: petit," when he saw that the kid was a boy. "Tu sais dans la vie y'a ni méchant ni gentil. Si maman est chiante, c'est qu'elle a peur d'être mamie. Si papa trompe maman, c'est parce que maman vieillit, tiens!"

The boy's face flushed red and he hid behind his parents' legs again. The man and woman both gasped and moved to protect their son.

Francis let out a ring of laughter. "Pourquoi t'es tout rouge? Eh, reviens, gamin!"

Suddenly his mood turned violent, and he turned to face the crowd that had gathered to watch him make a drunken fool of himself. "Et qu'est-cs que vous avez tous a me regarder comme un singe, vous?!" he screamed furiously, throwing his arms in the air. "Ah, oui, vous êtes saints, vous, bande de macaques! Donnez-moi un bébé singe il sera formidable!"

"Formidable!" he cried. "Tu étais formidable," he gestured to the woman, "j'étais fort minable," he put his hand on his heart, "nous étions formidables," and then he pointed to the both of them. He groaned and repeated the words through his sobs, and he didn't protest as the family began to hurry away.

He stayed like that, a broken and sniffling mess, for so long that people began to lose interest and carry on with what they were doing. Francis stayed in the rain and eventually it soaked him to the bone, but nothing mattered anymore. Nothing mattered when his heart was broken and couldn't be repaired.

Suddenly he heard footsteps behind him and someone sighed. "For Christ's sake, get a hold of yourself."

Francis whirled around, but instantly regretted it when everything went fuzzy and his stomach lurched. When his vision cleared, his eyes widened in surprise.

"Arthur?"

The Brit, dressed in a long black trench coat, sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "You're always so dramatic about everything. And do you always get this drunk after every break up? Honestly, you're worse than I am," he said as he shook his head.

Francis sniffed and new tears began to pour down his cheeks. "Je...je l'aime..." he whispered lamely.

He wasn't completely sure (he was drunk after all), but he could've sworn the look he was just given was pity. As quickly as it had come, though, it was gone, and once again Arthur looked irritated.

With a frustrated sigh, Arthur walked over to the drunken Frenchman and hauled him to his feet. He hoisted one arm over his shoulder and began to walk slowly down the street. "Come on," he said. "I'm taking you home."

Francis looked at him in shock, and quickly the tears came cascading down his face. "Merci. Merci beaucoup."

Arthur only rolled his eyes and muttered "Bloody frog..." as they slowly made their way back to Francis' apartment and out of the miserable rain.

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**AN: So yeah. I hope you liked it. I always seem to write better when I'm sleep deprived, but I don't know about this one. What do you think?**


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